A weekend getaway in the lakeside resort of Pokhara… what
could be better than being perched in a boat on the lake as the sun sets and
the mountains of Machupuchare peek out through the clouds? The sun has been
slowly going down to rest after a hot day and its chasing its solitude among
the clouds and hills in the distance. Its rays are s till shining through and
reflecting on the water, which moved calmly with the stirring of the boats
drifting and people swimming. This was well worth the seven hour bus ride of
stopping for busted tires and repeated breaks, with cucumber hagglers and
potato chip vendors. Well worth the sweltering heat and bump bumping with no leg
room. The stickiness of my body against the seat reminded me of sitting for
weeks in the van last summer, unable to move from the dripping sweat enveloping
me at all times. It felt like a different country, a different universe
perhaps, once we got to Pokara. The calming presence of the water and sudden
quiet solitude that less cars and honking will bring. We went straight for the
grassy patch on the water and again let the stars and fireflies mesh together
for their nightly concert. This concert is certainly as good as and less
crowded than any show I've seen in the cities I roam through.
From there, it was a series of weird yet not so unfortunate
encounters, starting with the young guys whose faces we could not see in the
dark, trying to convince us to go boating and using remarkably clever responses
to our protests. As I sat there listening lines like “My dreams are lost in the
water, can you help me go get them?” and “No thank you is no fun, just say okay
and you will see how wonderful everything is, now is the best time.” I felt
like I was in some bad movie from the 1950’s. After warding off all the restaurateurs
with promises of the best food and deals in town, we found a small nice place
that promised “Local Food” and a “Family Running Restaurant” which made me a
customized Thankthuk (Tibetan soup, like creplach for all the Jews out there)
of fresh vegetables and no salt. It started to pour and we enjoyed one of the
best feelings in the world- that of being protected by a small shelter and
watching the huge drops of lightening all around us. The lightning and thunder
erupted so loudly and suddenly I jumped each time, stirring around the warm
soup swimming inside me.
We started to walk through the downpour to find the 3
SISTERS GUESTHOUSE ( run by the women’s trekking agency I had been talking
about since before leaving the States) when a passing figure with his rain coat
pulled over his head as a defenseless shield emerged and asked if we needed a
room. Considering we were not sure how far the guesthouse was, and the rain was
quite torrential at this point, we went with him. Turns out we got lucky in the
wee hours of the night, with a beautiful room, and an owner, Guru, of equal
persuasion. As we were saying goodnight, I asked is he knew somewhere I could
do yoga in the morning, and he smiled with his eyes and said he does it every
morning at 6am in his garden and would
wake. Thus, at 530 there was a knock on the door and a middle aged man in his
underwear and tank top bading me to join him. With sleep still in my eyes, I straggled
down to the morning dew and saw that we were perched right at the entrance to
the forest, and he had set up the mat for me next to his, overlooking it all. He
had his book of the 44 poses that this guru suggested and we started with OM’s
and praises for the gods of our choice. He was actually a good teacher and a
genuine presence, lifting his shirt so I could see how his stomach was
positioned and waiting for me to look on at his moved. This was the exact type
of yoga you need a teacher for, slow and patient with breathing and little
movement. He kept saying, now you breathe in the fresh air and the power of the
gods, and out anything bad- any coughs, allergies or bad feelings and just take
in the beauty. It started raining so we went under the balcony and he told me
he always does his yoga outside because theres no new fresh air inside the room
and you can’t breathe in everything around you. Then he started saying how
people come from all over and pay thousands of rupees for courses, when you
have all you need, and the book helps you. Again, I felt the joy of being able
to continue my movement as the rain fell all around me.
I’m not sure how it fit in, although I guess it fits in
perfectly with the relaxed feel of a beach town, that at our breakfast we met
this middle aged American man whose soul was lost somewhere within his coffee
and newspaper. He went back and forth on the importance of having the thirst of
the soul within you and how if devotees would point their energies within
rather than churches and idols all the time they would feel much better. I guess
he stuck out for me as a symbol of how we all still work through our feelings of
strength, security, and serenity no matter what age we are. I thought how if I was
feeling weak, his words would have been more poignant, but right now all I wanted
was to enjoy my breakfast and not smile incessantly while I chew. I did take
one things out of what we was saying- when talking about the fuel crises her he
said that at least one positive is that people need to get around more by their
own means, just like how in Cuba during a food cost crises people simply
learned how to farm their own food. I hope this happens more throughout the
West soon.
After this we walked to the 3 SISTERS and I gave the rest of
the shirts (I had friends bring the wind up flashlight, show clamps, and hiking
boots last month) that unsustainably traveled all the way from America (because
we are a perfect nation without suffering) and was happy to see the genuinity
beyond the website. We met with Lucky Chhetri, the sister who started the
project, and she was so warm and sincere that the room lit up. She told us of
different projects they are doing- they also have an orphanage (all the girls
came over to watch a movie at the guesthouse), and are working to develop
tourism in the West of the country, which is the poorest area. I am working on
accepting that tourism is not something you can separate from the country, as
in feelings of anger when walking through the tourist area and seeing how much
it is like Disneyworld, because tourism is so closely intertwined
with the economy here. While there is a fear of taking away from the preserved
culture of the West, the Nepalis have learned that tourists bring in the money,
and are working within that system. In the West, they are working to teach them
more cash crops and also about tourists and how to be guides with better
English so they can interact better with travelers.
Now, here I am, back to the sunset and the flutes and rums
of the swamis in the backgrounds and steering away from trying to put the day
in the file cabinet of memories. Her I am, sitting in soaked clothing after a
warm swim in the lake and mango juice all over me.
The sweet deliciousness of a sun soaked day and a painting
waiting to happen…
